


Trapped by Societal Conventions

by cloakoflevitation



Series: A Brother Is... [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Banter, Brotherly Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Gothic Elements, Humor, No Beta – I Don't Believe The Hype, Snark, Sympathetic Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, it's just the brothers having a good time, not really fluff but still fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloakoflevitation/pseuds/cloakoflevitation
Summary: Roman and Remus have a dinner party and try to poison each other but avoid being poisoned themselves while also maintaining civility and politeness despite knowing they're both trying to kill each other (but all in good fun!). It's literally just Roman and Remus being theater nerds and playing a very elaborate game of pretend with high stakes. Boys being boys style.Virgil shows up briefly at the end; Patton and Logan get mentioned.***Warnings: Swearing. Elements of horror. Suggested cannibalism/blood-drinking but it doesn't happen and mentioning it sounds worse than it actually is. Stay safe y'all |-/
Series: A Brother Is... [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728859
Comments: 18
Kudos: 75





	Trapped by Societal Conventions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avery_Kedavra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Kedavra/gifts).



> Special thank you to @Avery_Kedavra who had nice things to say about the series this fic belongs to ([A Brother Is...](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728859)) which features stories focused on Roman and Remus's sibling-dynamics.
> 
> @Avery_Kedavra wrote a fic called [Come and Save My Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539668) which has nothing to do with this fic but it's good and I love how they wrote Roman and Remus's interactions and the feelings;;;; TwT

Roman tugged nervously at his jacket, making sure his sash was laying just so, before he realized what he was doing and stopped. He frowned and shook his head slightly. He didn’t care what Remus thought of his appearance – he would certainly be the more polished and put together of the two of them anyway.

He still fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves as he approached the entrance.

There were twin heavy wooden doors to Remus’s fortress that swung inward of their own accord as Roman approached. Their movement was accompanied by an unsettling creaking, and they firmly shut behind him after he crossed into the threshold of the foyer. He spared the doors a glare before wandering further inside. They were cliché really, entirely unnecessary. (The fact that the doors to his own castle worked the same way was irrelevant – they didn’t make ominous sounds and they certainly didn’t swing shut like something out of a horror movie.)

The decor in the hallway was different from his last visit; the dust and cobwebs had been replaced by ever-present shadows and a host of doors that, to Roman’s knowledge, didn’t actually lead anywhere (unless Remus had changed the blueprints for his fortress, which was possible even if not probable). There were a series of candles in sconces on the walls that flickered to life as he got closer to them. A glance back over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion – the candles extinguished themselves once he passed by.

At last he reached the end of the hallway that led out into the great hall. He barely spared the intricately tiled floor and vaulted ceiling a glance though, instead taking the stairs two at a time on the grand staircase to the left. Another hallway and three entirely solid black doors with no visible handles later, he stepped into their meeting room.

Remus was, predictably, already there, seated on the opposite side of the table. He stood from his chair, offering Roman a smile that was too eager to be charming, gesturing for Roman to take a seat in the only other chair at the table.

Roman took a moment to appreciate Remus’s chosen apparel. Just like Roman, he was wearing his normal clothing with an abnormal color scheme. Tonight, Remus had chosen sky blue, with his normally green accents swathed in yellow. It was a jarring (and unwelcome) change. Roman himself had traded in his white for dark navy and his red accessories for gold that matched the gold he already wore.

“Thank you for having me,” Roman offered into the silence, pulling out his chair and taking a seat. He smiled and smoothed down the front of his jacket.

Remus sat down after Roman did. His returning smile was too wide. “It was the least I could do, after the night you hosted last time.”

Roman hummed conversationally. “You really have outdone yourself. I was impressed, as always, with how… _cohesive_ your fortress is.” He carefully unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap, waving a hand in a general sweeping motion. “The decor and all, I mean.”

“Yes, I wanted something different.”

The table between them looked vaguely reminiscent of the spread at the Mad Hatter’s eternal tea party. Without meaning to, Roman murmured the riddle the Mad Hatter often told, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea…” Remus grinned far too knowingly, repeating the words the Hatter gave as the answer to the riddle, before continuing to say, “…why you would say such a thing. Are you feeling quite well? Can I offer you some tea?”

Roman’s returning grin was quick and sharp. “How can I refuse?”

There was a teapot on the table, amidst everything else, although once Roman saw it, he couldn’t stop looking at it. It was like something out of a steampunk dream (or nightmare), with six curved metal legs that narrowed into points at the end. It was shaped almost like a spider or perhaps a crab. Remus picked up a saucer and teacup and set them directly in front of himself, gesturing for Roman to do the same with the tableware at his right elbow. Once the cups were situated, Remus clapped his hands twice and the horrid little teapot crawled towards Roman’s cup on its terrifying metal legs. It was only because he had known Remus for so long that Roman had enough built up shock-tolerance to refrain from letting out a scream.

“What’s in the tea?” he asked, desperately trying to grasp at something to say to distract himself from the movement of the nightmarish abomination. The teapot stopped next to his saucer, tipping itself over so it could pour tea into his cup.

“It’s a _special_ blend.” Remus’s gaze was piercing. “I chose it just for you. I _do_ hope you enjoy it.”

“How thoughtful. I’m certain I will.” He watched the teapot scuttle across the table to Remus’s cup, trying to think of something to say so he wouldn’t have to drink the tea before Remus did. _Ah._ He remembered the vial in his pocket. “You complimented the honey during our last dinner.” He pulled the vial out, holding it up for Remus to see. It was about half as round as the diameter of his wrist and half as long as his forearm. It was porcelain, a beautiful black thing with carvings inlaid with gold that wound around its sides. The stopper was circular, with a tiny dragon curled around it.

“Oh!” Remus snapped his fingers, and a figure that was entirely shadow stepped forward from a corner of the room. Roman looked in askance to Remus. He gestured for Roman to hand the vial to the figure. Roman did so carefully, not certain the figure would even be able to hold it. However, the figure grasped it with no difficulty whatsoever and walked the few short steps between them to hand the vial to Remus. The figure then dissipated into nothing. Remus held up the vial, twisting it round and round to see the carvings.

“I thought perhaps you would enjoy some with your tea,” Roman said, making a show of adding a spoonful of sugar to his tea and stirring it.

“I couldn’t possibly use such a generous gift now.”

A vicious grin spread across Roman’s face. _Gotcha._ “Oh, but I insist! When, if not now? Is our dinner not occasion enough?”

A hint of frustration crossed Remus’s face before it smoothed out into polite reassurance. “No, of course. This is such a special occasion, what with your _lovely_ company and our _delicious_ meal. Surely it will be a _memorable_ night.” With exaggerated gestures, Remus uncorked the vial, carefully pouring some of the honey into his cup. He flicked his gaze up momentarily to meet Roman’s. “How is your tea?”

 _Damn._ He was out of excuses. With a fine tremble in his fingers, Roman tapped his spoon on the edge of his teacup and set it on the saucer. He grasped the delicate handle of the cup, bringing it up to his mouth. Remus was watching him with a wide, unblinking stare. He pretended to sip it before setting the cup back down with a little rattle of ceramic hitting ceramic. He made a show of swallowing.

Remus grinned, all teeth. “Well?”

“Perfect, as always. And yours?”

Remus carefully put the stopper back on the vial and slid it into a pocket somewhere in the folds of his clothing. His eyes never left Roman’s as he slowly took a sip of the tea and then set the cup back down. Roman held his breath in suspense, slightly disappointed when Remus didn’t swallow. Remus ran his tongue along his top lip until he remembered himself and patted his mouth with a black cloth napkin. “Lovely.”

“They say,” Roman began, looking at Remus before picking up his spoon and stirring his tea again, “local honey has certain… _health_ benefits.”

Remus’s mouth pulled into something between a grin and a grimace. “Do they?”

He hummed. “They do.” He picked up his saucer and teacup and purposefully set them aside. “Thank you for the tea,” he declared, knowing full well he hadn’t drunk any at all. “It was good.”

Glancing back at the horrid teapot and its mechanical legs with a frown, Remus seemed to resign himself to the fact that Roman wasn’t having any more tea. He snapped again and two shadow figures appeared to remove their tea tableware and then disappeared. Then Remus picked up a metal serving dish, polished and shiny as anything, and set it in front of himself. He removed the serving lid with a flourish. Steam rose into the air, along with the smell of rosemary and cooked meat.

Roman craned his neck, trying to look inside, but the walls of the dish were high and with the expanse of table between them, he couldn’t see any distinguishable details. He asked somewhat nervously, “What have you prepared?”

Remus looked up and met his gaze. He pursed his lips and a slow sly grin spread across his face. “You have such a refined palate, I’ll let you discern for yourself.” Roman started to protest but Remus insisted, “I look forward to seeing your fine taste in action.” And so that was that.

Suddenly Remus was holding a large carving knife that Roman didn’t see him pick up. He was so distracted that he barely noticed a shadow figure step forward, placing silverware and a wine glass in front of him.

When Remus had a wine glass placed next to him, he paused in carving the meat for a moment to tell Roman, “I would ask your preference, but seeing as you don’t know yet what you’ll be drinking it with, I’ve taken the liberty of selecting our drink.” He started to carve the meat again, adding, “I’m _sure_ you’ll enjoy it.”

A shadow figure stepped forward to pour something into Remus’s glass. It was then that Roman noticed both the wine glasses and the decanter that the shadow figure was pouring from were made of black glass, obscuring the color of whatever was being poured. After a moment, the shadow figure came to pour Roman’s glass and then disappeared.

“Don’t wait on my account.” Remus was carefully plating their food. “Drink up.”

Roman raised his wine glass. He turned it in his hand, but between the black glass and the intimate lighting of the room, he couldn’t make out anything beyond the fact that it appeared a deep maroon. _A red wine._ Or so he hoped, anyway. He brought the rim beneath his nose, painfully aware of Remus’s expectant glances. It smelled of iron and copper.

Finally, Remus was done plating the food. Instead of drinking, Roman held his glass out. “A toast,” he proposed, “to my hospitable host.”

Anger flashed in Remus’s eyes, there and gone again before Roman could blink. He raised his glass giving a nod. They both slowly brought their glasses towards their mouths, watching each other intently. They drank together (that is to say, not at all). Roman kept his mouth closed and wiped the residue on his lips away with his napkin.

“Thoughts?”

“Excellent.” Roman let his smile turn sharp. “Shall we see how it pairs with our…?”

“Oh yes, our roasted–” Remus caught himself and laughed, shaking his head. “Naughty, naughty. I nearly gave away the surprise, didn’t I?” He snapped his fingers and a shadow figure appeared to take one of the plates he had prepared and set it in front of Roman.

Remus moved the serving dish further into the center of the table, giving him space to set his own plate in front of himself. The movement also had the added bonus of allowing Roman to better see what was inside the serving dish. There were small potatoes lining the edge and sprigs of rosemary. The meat looked well cooked, but it was the bones – shallowly steepled, not quite touching – that made Roman’s blood run cold. He wondered, if the meat were removed, if the bones would reveal a _human_ ribcage, albeit minus the sternum. It certainly looked that way with the meat still on.

There was a cough, small and civil and _pointed._

Roman blinked, realizing Remus was waiting for him to eat. He noticed Remus’s own plate remained untouched.

“I–” Roman blurted out, “It’s Lent.” It was, in fact, not Lent.

Remus scowled. “Ah, Catholicism.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” He was, in fact, not sorry at all.

“It can’t be helped, I suppose.” Remus snapped his fingers.

“Oh, don’t abstain on my account. Please, enjoy your lovely roasted…”

Remus waved a dismissive hand and allowed the shadow figures to remove their plates. “Another time,” he reassured. Shrewdly, he reminded Roman, “Lent does not last all year.” In truth, it sounded more like a warning than a reminder.

A shiver went down Roman’s spine at the thought of revisiting the surprise meat. “Another time,” he agreed, because there was nothing else to say.

“Well.” Remus sat back in his chair and waved a hand at the assorted plates and dishes, each holding a different food, spread across the entirety of the table. “I hope you will enjoy the fruit.”

After a moment’s deliberation, Roman made a selection from a nearby platter. There was a something resembling a pineapple, although the colors were all wrong and the little spikes seemed _far_ too sharp. Several pitted mauve colored fruits of some kind were littered around the edges, surrounding the larger fruits. There was a cylindrical striped _something_ that looked vaguely familiar but unsettling for an unnamable reason, and Roman didn’t dare to touch it. A bright blue melon sat directly in the center. The pear he picked was yellow and smooth, perhaps _too_ yellow and smooth, but it looked the safest option of everything.

Across the table, Remus was spooning a hot amber colored soup into two bowls. He looked up long enough to see Roman holding the pear. “They say pears are good for you.”

“So they do.” He took a bite out of the pear. It was good – sweet, firm, juicy.

“Those fruits came from my gardens.”

Roman stopped chewing.

“I’ve been doing some… _experimentation._ With the plants." Remus took a napkin and carefully wiped around the edges of the bowls, cleaning any wayward drips of soup. “It took some time and effort, but I finally achieved the outcome I wanted.”

Discreetly, Roman picked up his napkin and spat his bite of pear into it. He laid the napkin aside, hoping it would somehow escape Remus’s notice amongst all the other things on the table. He looked warily at the rest of the pear in his hand and hoarsely asked, “What outcome was that?”

Remus’s gaze snapped to him, perhaps because of his voice. Roman cleared his throat. He reached for his glass, then remembered the unknown liquid inside it. But it was too late, so he carefully brought it to his mouth, pretending to drink some.

“Oh, you know…” Remus waved a hand dismissively. “I wanted to alter the taste. _Anything_ will go down easier if it’s sweet.”

A cough clawed its way out of Roman’s throat. He forced himself not to reach for his glass again.

Remus snapped his fingers and a shadow figure stepped forward, holding the decanter that had been used to fill their glasses earlier. Roman quickly put a hand over his glass, not wanting it to be found out that he had not actually drank any.

The figure paused and then walked around the table to fill Remus’s glass. Remus made no mention of the incident beyond giving Roman a look so perceptive he must have been able to see into his soul. Two additional shadow figures appeared, clearing away the remains of Roman’s pear along with the serving spoon and napkin Remus had used for the soup. The figure with the decanter disappeared, and one of the remaining figures took one of the bowls Remus had prepared and brought it in front of Roman. Then, in sync, the figures summoned spoons and napkins, setting the former on the saucer the soup bowl sat on, and the latter on the table.

“This smells delightful,” Roman complimented Remus.

“I can only hope it tastes as good.”

It wasn’t funny but both laughed anyway, short, awkward, and polite. They unfolded their napkins and picked up their spoons, darting glances between each other and their soup, as if to see who would be the first to break. They brought their spoons to their mouths at the same time. When Remus finally looked away, Roman pulled the spoon from his mouth, having not actually ate any of the soup at all. He noted that Remus seemed to have not eaten any either.

Remus half-heartedly stirred his soup, and Roman realized they had reached the time for small talk. “So.” He cleared his throat. “What’ve you been doing? Beyond your garden experiments, that is.”

“Oh…” Remus made a gesture that didn’t explain anything at all. “You know. Finishing odds and ends. A few small things. Nothing worth writing home about.” He moved his spoon through his soup absently and then set his spoon down. “What we _should_ be talking about is your new little pet project.” His gaze narrowed, although his tone was still as polite as Sunday mornings. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that glass thing you’re building.”

“It’s going to be a greenhouse. Of sorts.”

“I’m certain it will be lovely… if you ever finish it.”

Roman looked up sharply at the dig, but Remus wasn’t looking at him. “Logan mentioned Babylonian hanging gardens a while back,” he explained where the idea came from. “I’m having the slightest bit of difficulty getting mine to hang right. Plants and dirt are actually quite heavy, you know.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Remus reassured in a way that sounded like patronization.

“What’s your newest big thing?” Roman demanded, wanting to move the conversation along so Remus wouldn’t poke at something he cared about anymore. “Surely you have something up your sleeve.” There was a pause, and then Roman grinned, adding sweetly, “Although, it’s alright if you don’t. We can’t _all_ have good ideas, after all.”

“I’m going to build a zoo,” Remus shot back hotly, before Roman watched him forcibly relax. He took a breath, and his voice was overly gracious, bordering on cloying. “I thought your villagers might enjoy having something to do. It’s been _quite_ some time since you’ve involved them in a quest or a ball or some such–” He caught himself, and Roman knew he had wanted to say _nonsense._ “–activity,” he finished, with a stiff little cough.

“How generous of you,” Roman grit out through his teeth. “The villagers will love it.” Anger boiled just beneath this skin at the implication that he was being negligent with his creations, but he forced himself to mind his manners, remembering the time and place where he was. “What animals will you have in your zoo?”

Remus smiled, pleased and arrogant, as if he knew exactly how much he had gotten under Roman’s skin. “Just the usual: giant rabbits, wolf-monkeys, hydrae, hellhounds. Maybe even a siren.”

Roman made a mental note to remind the villagers that Remus’s half of the Imagination was off-limits. “I have a dragon that might interest you.”

“Really?” Remus sat forward, a bit surprised.

“Of course.” He could feel his smile slipping into something pretentious and ugly, but he kept his voice warm and honeyed, knowing Remus wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. “It’s the _least_ I could do to help you start your little venture. No harm in getting some help from the experts, is there?” It wasn’t a question.

Fire and fury lurked just behind Remus’s polite expression, and Roman cackled to himself on the inside. “I don’t need your charity, brother dear,” Remus responded stiffly, adding the endearment as if that helped make his tone sound any kinder. “I’ll do just fine on my own.”

“I’m certain you will,” Roman reassured in a tone that conveyed his complete lack of certainty in him. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little help.” He scolded, “Don’t be ungrateful.”

Remus’s glare could have burned holes in a lesser person. “Speaking of,” he declared firmly, “I would be less than a gracious host if I let you leave before dessert.”

Two shadow figures appeared, removing the bowls of soup and accompanying silverware. The black wine glasses were taken. Two small plates, etched in gold around the edges, were placed, one in front of Remus and one in front of Roman. There was a slice of something, what looked like pie, on the plate. Two mugs, clear glass except for a green ceramic handle, were also placed in front of them. Then the figures disappeared. The liquid in the mugs was a bright, vivid green: the iconic color of villains in all Disney movies.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly have any,” Roman protested. “After everything that you’ve served, I couldn’t –”

“But you must,” Remus insisted, grinning because he knew he had won. “Even if it’s only a drink, please. I _insist.”_

Roman sighed wearily. “Alright. What are we having?”

“Peach pie. Apple cider.”

“I only have to have one?” he asked hesitantly, eyeing the artificially green cider with open distaste.

“I certainly won’t stop you from having both. But at least one.”

That meant one of them was poisoned. Oh, Roman was no fool. He knew beyond whatever horrifying aesthetics Remus had crafted, everything that had been served had also been poisoned. But if he was being given a choice now, the pie or the cider, there was only one thing poisoned in front of him (unless Remus was breaking the rules, _again)._

Roman was supposed to choose his own fate.

The obvious poisoned choice would be the cider. Not only was it Remus’s color, but it was also the putrid bright shade of green specific to villains and poisons in media. It was also _apple_ cider, and apples were what had been poisoned and given to Snow White by the Evil Queen.

Of course, Remus would know that Roman would know all of that. In order to deceive him, he would have then poisoned the peach pie instead.

But from there, Remus might have doubled back, thinking Roman would think he poisoned the pie and instead, poisoned the cider.

However, he might have poisoned the pie, thinking Roman would think that he poisoned the cider, knowing he would have thought to poison the pie after thinking of poisoning the cider in the first place.

In short, choosing the correct option was more or less a shot in the dark.

“Any hints?” Roman asked, watching Remus for tells.

Remus frowned, probably because Roman had broken character. “They’re both some of my favorites.”

Roman rolled his eyes, looking back at the two options in front of him. He murmured sarcastically, “Thank you, Remus, for your wise words of wisdom. What would I do without you?”

He heard Remus chuckle.

Carefully, he inspected both again. The cider, beyond its color, was clear, no visible particulate or shimmer suspended in the liquid. A hand to the side of the mug confirmed it was warm. He leaned forward to smell it. Appley. A bit like wood. He moved on to the pie. It was latticed at the top, with baked peaches starting to escape from between the cage of pastry. It smelled like peaches and warmth. But the filling gave him pause. Any number of things could be hidden in among the chopped peaches and sugar and oozing goodness. It wasn’t quite as easy to attempt to spot a poisoning agent in the pie as it had been in the cider.

And so, with great hesitation, Roman picked up the mug and swallowed a mouthful of cider.

He had pointedly not made eye contact with Remus the whole time, not wanting to be distracted or start to second guess himself. When he set the mug down, he finally looked up to see a wry smile on Remus’s face. His brother stood up, and made his way around the table, crouching next to Roman’s chair. He held out his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a bezoar, a small thing, round and faintly glowing.

“No,” Roman moaned, shooting the cider a glare. “I’m poisoned?”

“Afraid so. But I’m impressed. You did much better than I thought you would.”

Roman turned in his chair so he was facing Remus. “What was the meat? I _have_ to know.”

Remus rolled his eyes, forcing the bezoar into Roman’s hands. “If you don’t put this in your mouth, you won’t live long enough for me to tell you.”

He made a face, but took the thing, setting it inside his mouth. He didn’t chew it; it didn’t work like that. He just held it in his mouth until it had vaporized and he could no longer feel it.

Remus stood up, gesturing for Roman to follow him out of the room. “It was lamb.”

Roman shook his head. “I was _sure_ it was human.”

Remus preened under Roman’s praise, clearly proud of his work, “Took me _forever_ to arrange it to look like a ribcage.” They walked down a twisting set of corridors that Roman had never seen before. There was a skeleton hanging from chains, and when they turned the next corner, there were a dozen peepholes at varying heights along the left wall. Remus admitted, “The honey was a good touch. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Roman quipped back with a grin. The hallway opened up into a large high-ceilinged room, with dark marble pillars supporting a second story and balcony around the upper level. Roman recognized the doorway they were walking towards on the other side of the room; it led to the hallway that led to the front of Remus’s fortress.

He waved a hand, letting his uniform change back into its normal colors, looking down at the red and white with a pleased smile. When he turned to glance at Remus beside him, his clothes had also changed back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so awful as what you were wearing,” he informed Remus, only half-teasing.

Remus grimaced, wrinkling his nose in disgust. _“Black_ is my color. _Pastels,”_ he sneered the word, making Roman chuckle, “are _not_ for me.”

“That’s an understatement,” a new voice called from above them. Both Roman and Remus stopped and took a step back, bending their knees slightly, a defensive position. Roman summoning his katana and Remus summoning his morning star. A figure dropped from the balcony in front of them, landing in a crouch before slowing standing up and offering them a lazy grin. “Not afraid of little ol’ me, are we?”

Roman let his katana disappear from his hands. “One of these days we’re going to hurt you before we realize it’s you,” he grumbled, more embarrassed than angry about being startled.

“Ha, I’d like to see you try.”

Remus slowly swung his morning star until the spiked end rested near the lurker’s face and demanded, “What do you want?”

Virgil pushed the weapon aside with a finger, giving him an unimpressed glare. “You said we were gonna…” He glanced sidelong at Roman, before flicking his gaze back to Remus and pointedly continuing, “You know… _the thing…”_

“What. What are you talking about. What are you doing,” Roman asked without asking, looking between the two of them.

Remus seemed to realize what Virgil meant and nodded slowly before making a gesture that Roman didn’t understand. “Give me a sec. Roman was just leaving.”

“What?! No! Secrets, secrets are no fun, unless they’re told to everyone!”

Virgil was suddenly standing right in front of him, cloaked in shadows, pale and ghost-like, eyes dark and teeth sharper than they should have been. **“Are you sure,”** he said slowly, hauntingly, as a shiver ran down Roman’s spine, **“that you want to know?”**

“I – um…” He hesitantly shook his head _no._

“There’s a good Princey.”

The chill in the air left and the shadows receded. Virgil hooked his arm through Roman’s, and Remus quickly hooked his arm through Roman’s other, and they steered him towards the exit. “No fair,” Roman whined, seeing that they really weren’t going to tell him anything. “You both suck.”

Virgil groaned, knowing just as well as Roman what a mistake the statement had been as Remus purred, “You’re damn right I do.”

They frog-marched him all the way to the ornate wooden doors that swung open on their own.

“Goodbye Roman,” Virgil said firmly, dismissing him, apparently eager to start whatever mysterious activity he and Remus had planned.

Roman chose the mature option of rolling his eyes and giving him the cold shoulder. He turned to Remus. “You might have won this week, but I’m still ahead overall.”

“Dream on,” Remus taunted back with a laugh. “I’ve learned your tricks. You won’t poison me again.”

“We’ll see,” Roman singsonged, before letting the silliness drop from his voice to confirm, “Next week then?”

“I’ll be at yours with bells and whistles on.”

Roman gave him a curious look, and Remus only smiled brightly. It gave Roman pause. “…Not literally, right?”

“We’ll see,” Remus parroted Roman’s tease, the mischief in his expression promising something peculiar and most likely grotesque.

 _Oh Norns._ Roman needed a vacation.

Virgil gave him a sarcastic little wave that Roman made a face at, still ignoring him. “Later loser,” he directed towards Remus.

“Bye bitch.”

Roman shook his head and started to walk away before quickly turning around, calling, “Wait!”

Remus and Virgil walked back towards the doors, which hadn’t closed yet, and met Roman at the doorway once more. They waited with expectant looks.

“I almost forgot…” Roman dug around in one of his pockets before realizing he had never put it in his pockets in the first place because it didn’t fit. He summoned the tin of cookies Patton had given him to give to Remus. There was a little notecard that held Remus’s name tied to the top with a baby blue ribbon. “Patton made these. He asked me if I could bring them when I was here.”

Remus took the tin, hugging it against himself with an arm around it. “Thanks.”

“Uhhhh…” Virgil looked at the tin, then worriedly at Roman and Remus. “You said Patton made those?”

Roman grimaced, realizing what Virgil was pointing out. “Ah, right…”

“What?” Remus frowned, disgruntled at not knowing what they were talking about, and Roman couldn’t help but feel like he was getting a taste of his own medicine.

“On second thought, you’d better not eat those.” _He’d be poisoned for sure._

Remus pulled the tin tighter against himself, taking a half-step back, as if worried they might try to take it from him. “What? Why?”

Roman’s mouth pulled into an awkward frown. “Um… How can I put this?”

“Patton’s cooking is a biohazard,” Virgil cut in bluntly. “He tries his best, but he literally burns water. Feels like every other day he narrowly avoids lighting the kitchen on fire. Drives me up the wall.”

Remus dissolved into giggles, followed quickly by Roman and even Virgil. Virgil continued to half-heartedly protest, “It’s really not funny! Keeps me up at night sometimes worrying about him.” Remus laughed long and loud and full of life, setting Roman off every time he managed to pull himself together. A light, warm, carefree feeling pulled his head into the clouds, even as tears gathered in his eyes from laughing too hard. “Enough, enough!” he cried, holding one hand to his side, nearly in stitches.

Slinging an arm around Virgil’s shoulders with a long sigh, Remus’s laughter subsided. He tousled Virgil’s hair, unbothered when Virgil ducked out from under his arm and shot him a glare. “You ready?”

Virgil rolled his eyes and grumbled something about, “I’ve just been waiting on you,” as he stalked off into the depths of Remus’s fortress.

“Later loser,” Remus shot Roman’s goodbye from earlier back at him.

A vicious grin split Roman’s face, and he was pleased to see a hint of surprise in Remus’s expression when he retorted, “Bye bitch!”

**Author's Note:**

> What were Remus and Virgil doing? Giving themselves at-home tattoos! [The author has never gotten a tattoo (yet?) and is not recommending you try that at home lol]
> 
> Bezoars are real. Do not look up what they are.
> 
> Roman misunderstood Logan about the hanging gardens of Babylon, and when Logan finds out he is trying to make his gardens actually hang from a glass ceiling, he loses his mind.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If there's a trope or a specific scene/dialogue you'd like to see between the brothers, feel free to drop a prompt/suggestion my way! I enjoy writing this series and will probably continue to add to it for a while. I'm [@doctor-gloom](https://doctor-gloom.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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